


Crisis 42

by ostentatiouslyrealistic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Christmas, Coffee Shops, Confessions, HQ Secret Santa 2019, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ostentatiouslyrealistic/pseuds/ostentatiouslyrealistic
Summary: It's Christmas, a time for joy and festive cheer, so why is Bokuto acting so strangely?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	Crisis 42

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! This is my secret santa piece for @brittsavedtheworld on tumblr!

Akaashi Keiji isn’t the most festive person in the world.

Christmas Eve is a quiet affair, usually with Akaashi turning down his friends’ offers to go out into the city, either to gather at karaoke rooms, wander through the fastidiously decorated lights strewn throughout the streets, or party at one of their classmates’ houses. It’s a time he’s reserved for family traditions, with his grandparents coming up to Miyagi to visit, bearing gifts in the form of personally roasted green tea and yunomi cups that are old enough to be considered heirlooms. The night is spent with quiet chatter as they all catch up with steaming cups of freshly brewed tea.

Christmas Day is even quieter. His parents and grandparents prefer to sleep in during the day, as does Akaashi. After, there’s more tea involved, accompanied by small snacks his grandparents bring from the countryside.

That’s how it’s always been for the past seventeen Christmases he’s celebrated. Calm. Peaceful. Uneventful.

So imagine his surprise when the doorbell rings, and he finds none other than Bokuto Koutarou standing at his doorstep, Konoha’s secret Santa gift wrapped snug around his neck and his hands shoved deep within his pockets. He’s huffing billows of grey into the frigid winter air as he hops from one foot to the other in a nervous, jittery dance.

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi cocks his head. For a second, his captain and friend freezes, eyes wide and mouth agape as if he couldn't believe Akaashi had opened the door. When he doesn’t move for another few agonizingly cold seconds, Akaashi repeats, “Bokuto-san?”

The second time works as a charm, and Bokuto snaps out of his daze. Then, two things happen simultaneously. Akaashi’s mother appears behind him, craning her neck to see who their new guest is and asking, “Who is it, dear?”

This happens just as Bokuto bellows a garbled version of his name, “Aghaashi!” The cry sends Akaashi’s mother reeling back in bewilderment as Akaashi sighs and rubs at his ears. Bokuto clamps his mouth in astonished embarrassment before beginning to apologize, voice loud and imploring. This attracts the attention of Akaashi’s father, who also appears at the doorway, eyebrow raised curiously.

“Did you need something?” Akaashi asks. With that, Bokuto looks up at him through his lashes, eyes wide with a pout forming on his lips, and Akaashi braces himself for whatever he’s about to be asked.

\--

He’s a little bewildered at himself for having agreed to go out with Bokuto, who had practically begged for his company, claiming that no one else was available. Apparently, everyone else on the team had plans, whether it be traveling to find family or hanging out with their friends.

Bokuto shuffles next to him, kicking a rock along the sidewalk. His hands are still shoved deep in his coat pocket, and each breath he takes comes out as a puff of grey. There’s a muted presence about him, one Akaashi isn’t quite used to. It isn’t bad, per se. It’s just different than the Bokuto he’s accustomed to on the court.

Maybe it’s the snow that lightly flutters around him. Or maybe it’s the layers of white that settle along the streets and pile over store signs, tree branches, and streetlamps. Perhaps it’s the lack of people that filter through the sidewalk and the lack of cars that normally congest the streets. Or perhaps it’s the gentle glow of the streetlamps that flicker to life, one by one, until they’re enveloped in an ochroleucous glow.

For once, Tokyo feels subdued.

And Bokuto subdues with it.

\--

“Oya?” Kuroo croons, settling his head on top of his linked fingers. His eyes narrow as a sly smile stretches across his face. Next to him, Kenma doesn’t bother to look up from his game, fingers flying over the controls. As a greeting, he nods vaguely toward Akaashi’s direction. “I didn’t think he’d get you of all people to come with him.”

Akaashi shrugs off his coat and slings it across the back of his chair before settling in front of Kenma. There are two steaming mugs in front of the cat-like duo, one of them half-drained. The other, untouched, the milk heart slowly sinking into its latte prison.

“Do you want anything?” Bokuto hasn’t sat down, hopping from one foot to the other. A faint spot of pink blooms across his cheeks, leaving them love-struck from the bitter cold. His gaze sweeps across the area but, oddly enough, skips Akaashi. Kuroo throws Bokuto a knowing look that he pointedly ignores.

Akaashi raises a brow, confused by their interaction, and twists in his seat, waving a hand. “I can get—”

“—no,” Bokuto interjects. The word is sharp, cutting through the air. It surprises Akaashi and Kuroo while Kenma remains unfazed. At their reactions, Bokuto begins to flounder. “It’s no worries. I can grab it since I kinda, you know, dragged you out with me.” Before Akaashi can open his mouth to protest, Bokuto dashes away.

Astonished, Akaashi can only blink in surprise, then turn back to face his Nekoma friends. Kuroo appears constipated, face scrunching while pulling in his lips. He holds it for a few seconds before succumbing and bursting into laughter.

“Don’t worry about him,” he chuckles, wiping the invisible tears from his eyes. “It’s been a weird few days.”

"Is he all right?" Akaashi can't help the bewilderment from seeping into his tone, completely caught off-guard by the day's events and Bokuto's actions. "He's not sick, is he?"

For the first time, Kenma looks up. The sounds of battle from his console fade into a victorious jingle that indicates he's won a difficult level. He pulls up a corner of his mouth in a somewhat pitying expression.

"You could say that," he says, brows rising and falling as he looks to the side. Kuroo, who has his mug to his lips, snorts and chokes on his latte.

\--

"Kenma has pretty long hands," Kuroo speculates, glancing over at his friend, who's gone back to fighting a higher level in his game. The sounds of battle cries and metal clashing against metal reverberate from the small speakers. The person in question ignores him, fingers continuing to fly over the controls.

Before Akaashi can comment, Bokuto interjects, slapping a hand on the table. "Akaashi's got long fingers. Setters have to have long hands."

Consciously, Akaashi glances down, spreading his fingers outward. He's never really thought much about it, but now that he looks at them, they look odd. Flexing them, he purses his lips and then curls his fingers, pulling them down to settle on his lap, hiding them from view.

Kuroo notices and raises a brow. This, in turn, catches Bokuto's attention, who quickly remedies himself, "Not that it's bad! You have very nice fingers."

Akaashi blinks.

Bokuto begins to flounder. "They're really pretty! Super elegant! Nothing weird about them. I like them." Realizing how he sounds, his eyes widen, and he waves both hands in Akaashi's direction. "NOT LIKE THAT. I like anyone who sets for me, but you're my favorite! My favorite setter, I mean—"

"Bo," Kuroo interrupts. This causes Bokuto to clamp his mouth shut, and he turns to stare at his hot chocolate, cheeks flushing a pale pink. 

Hm, maybe Bokuto _is_ sick.

Frowning, Akaashi reaches forward and presses the back of his fingers to Bokuto's exposed cheek. It's warmer than he expects; his frown deepens. The action causes Bokuto to freeze.

"You're really warm," Akaashi comments, shifting so that the back of his hand presses against his face. Suddenly, Bokuto flails back, arms literally flying up and back in an exaggerated manner. His eyes are wide with alarm, and his back hits the wall.

This catches the attention of the small number of patrons in the coffee shop. Kuroo hides his face behind his latte, letting his mouth rest on the rim of the mug. It's almost imperceptible, but Kenma shoves his face a tad bit closer to his consol—his hair falls forward in a curtain of blond and brown.

Akaashi, startled by Bokuto's reaction, pulls his hand back to his lap. An inkling of shame fills his chest. "I'm sorry," he starts. "I didn't mean to intrude on your personal space. Though, please get some rest over break. You're very warm."

The tinny sounds of battle fade into a victorious fanfare, and Kenma sighs. He releases the console, and it clatters onto the table. With a sniff, he wipes his hands on his sweats before reaching up to grab his latte, making a face when he realizes it's gone lukewarm.

Kuroo leans forward and cocks his head, letting it sit on the palm of his hand, fingers curled to his chin. "I'm curious," he hums. "Who has longer fingers: Kenma or Akaashi?" Kenma ignores him, choosing to take another swig of his latte without any fear of burning his tongue. Akaashi throws him a withering look.

"I'm pretty sure Akaashi has longer fingers," Kenma voices, though it's a little muffled with his top lip wrapped over the rim of his mug. At another one of Kuroo's whines, Kenma rolls his eyes and holds out a hand.

True to Kenma's prediction, Akaashi's fingers are a tad bit longer.

"Now, how about a middle blocker to setter?"

Kenma pulls back, lips pulling taut into a straight line. He gives Akaashi a somewhat apologizing look, as if to say, _I'm sorry for my idiot of a friend._

"Is this what you do in your free time?" Akaashi asks, cocking a brow. He humors him anyway, sliding his palm over Kuroo's equally callused hands. As it turns out, Kuroo's fingers are thicker and a little longer than Akaashi's slender fingers.

"Hm," Kuroo hums. His eyes slide between their hands and Bokuto, letting their hands stay conjoined. "Seems like mine are bigger," he comments, and the tops of his fingers begin to curl down over Akaashi's.

In a flash, Bokuto pulls down Akaashi's arm with an awkward laugh, wrapping his hand around his wrist. "Guess so," he says.

Akaashi knows his captain inside and out, having six days of practice a week with extra practice time until late on most of those six days. He's gotten to know Bokuto's moods, his odd habits—even the tiniest gesture is decipherable.

So it comes as a surprise when he hears the false cheerfulness in his tone, underlined with a sort of warning directed at his closest friend. Kuroo, unfazed (of course), merely shrugs and sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. A sly grin slashes across his face as he challenges Bokuto with a pointed stare.

For a brief moment, there's a tense sort of silence between the two captains, their gazes conveying a litany of emotions too quick and complicated for Akaashi to read. And then there's a sharp _thud_ , and Kuroo's expression crumbles in pain.

"My shin," he groans, curling forward. "Why'd you kick me?" he directs the question to Kenma, who patiently finishes his latte.

"Reasons." That's it. That's his answer. Then, "I'm going to get a refill. Do you want to come?" For the first time, Kenma's eyes flash to Akaashi, pinning him with his feline gaze.

Akaashi glances down at his mug, realizing he's completely out of tea and nods, standing with Kenma, their chairs scraping against the linoleum floor. As soon as they're a certain distance away, Akaashi can hear Bokuto and Kuroo furiously whispering to one another, though he can't decipher their words.

"Don't mind Kuroo," Kenma speaks softly. "He's just being his usual self. I think time away from school bores him."

"It's fine," Akaashi reassures him. "But I think Bokuto might be sick? He's not his usual self," he adds, frown deepening. At that, Kenma releases a laugh in the form of a sharp exhale. The corner of his lip turns up in a half-smile.

"He's fine," he says. For some reason, it sounds ominous. The barista breaks their moment, returning with their beverages balanced precariously on her tray.

When they return, he hears Kuroo hiss, "Just tell him," before being violently hushed by Bokuto, who seems to be at the first stages of falling into a crisis.

Oh.

Akaashi flips through the mental files he has on Bokuto, combing through his known traits and the best ways to deal with them. With the way his leg jiggles up and down beneath the table and the way his hands wipe vigorously against the fabric of his jeans, Akaashi can categorize this as a crisis number 42.

And the best way to deal with crisis number 42?

"Bokuto-san, would you like to take a walk?"

Step one: get rid of his jitters. Bokuto can get antsy, especially when sedentary and emotional. Taking him outside for some action is good to calm his nerves.

He nods in response, though his gaze never strays from Kuroo, who's wearing an unfamiliar expression. Even weirder is when Kuroo gives him an half-knowing, half-encouraging nod, gesturing them to leave.

"We'll be back," Akaashi says. He casts a glance to Kenma, who has returned to his game. He slips on his coat and pulls Bokuto by his upper arm, leading them outside.

The moment the door opens, obnoxious ringing filling the air, they're blasted with a face full of bitter winter air. Immediately, his face scrunches against the wind, and his grip on Bokuto tightens. It's freezing, but it'll work to stop whatever's floating through Bokuto's mind.

Hopefully.

Step two: Distract him by getting him to talk.

"Do you have plans for the rest of break?" he asks, shoving his hands deep in his coat pockets. A shiver rocks his spine, and he hunches forward, wishing he could have stayed in the coffee shop.

Bokuto, deep in thought, doesn't hear the first time, so Akaashi has to repeat his question, making sure to give his upper arm a light shake. The action prompts Bokuto to blink owlishly at him, almost as if he'd been speaking a foreign language.

"Break?" he repeats, almost as if in a daze. More concern floods Akaashi's chest, and he prompts him by nodding slowly. "Uh, no. Not that I know of." Then he turns his gaze away, sweeping over the Christmas lights that string across the various shops.

Akaashi breathes out slowly, watching the grey billow from his mouth. He needs to intensify step two, which is hard since he himself has nothing to fill the silence between them. Internally, he knows he should tread carefully, lest his captain's mood get the better of him, but Bokuto's odd behavior indicates that something is definitely _wrong._ And it might be something Akaashi can't fix, so he decides to get to the heart of it.

With a slight tug, Akaashi pulls on Bokuto's coat, bunching the soft fabric between his fingers. The action barely stirs Bokuto's attention, but the resistance as Akaashi pulls back does. Almost absentmindedly, Bokuto stumbles when Akaashi pulls back, turning to face him with wide eyes.

They've stopped in front of a small cake shop, warm tones of light blooming through the glass displays. A streetlamp sits to their lift, enveloping them in a gentle glow. The cold has blossomed on Bokuto's cheeks in the form a two pink pools, and they slowly leak down his jaw and spread down his neck.

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi starts, tilting his head forward, eyebrows furrowed as he stares intently at him. "Are you all right?"

For a good minute, Bokuto gapes at him with a terrified silence. There's a storm brewing behind his eyes, some sort of internal conflict Akaashi can't read, and it _bothers_ him. It bothers him that he can't help him with whatever he's enduring. It bothers him that Bokuto has evidently gone out of his way to ask Kuroo for help instead of him. It especially bothers him that this situation has surfaced a side of Bokuto he does not recognize.

He steps forward, crunching the delicate snow beneath his feet. His grip loosens on Bokuto's coat, though they linger over the fabric in case his friend decides to bolt away.

"Is there something bothering you—?"

"I like you," Bokuto blurts. His words are loud, punctuating the air between them. Time slows as the words process through his head, and it feels as if the world around them has faded as his vision tunnels on Bokuto. His friend gasps at the outburst, clamping a hand over his mouth in mute horror.

His eyes dart to the left, then the right. A tell-tale sign that he's about to make a run for it. For a split second, Akaashi debates on letting him run. Allowing him the escape that he so desperately wants.

But he knows.

Bokuto would literally and figuratively slip through his fingers, and their dynamic would never be the same. Their relationship as upperclassman and underclassman, wing spiker and setter, friend and friend, would be irreparably damaged. It's something he can't bear to lose.

So he tightens his grip, dashing forward to anchor his other hand on the lapels of Bokuto's coat. "Please don't run," he begs. Somehow, one way or the other, in the panicked confines of his mind, his body begins to react. His heart slams against his ribcage. Blood roars in his ears in great gusts. Sweat begins to line his palms.

The experience is not unlike the brief silence before a volleyball match.

It's a sensation that, coupled with the warmth that pools in his stomach, is not unpleasant.

"Don't go," he says, words softer than before. A noise resembling a dying animal escapes Bokuto's lips, but he stays rooted to his spot.

Time comes to a standstill. Bokuto takes a step back; Akaashi follows. He can't—he won't let him escape. "Don't go," he repeats softly. With his heart still pounding, he begins to release his hands, feeling the soft fabric against his fingertips until he has a light grasp on his coat. With a slight, shaky chuckle, he straightens the coat.

Bokuto still hasn't said a word, opting to watch him move instead. The tension in his shoulders has lifted, and they slump as his friend realizes Akaashi isn't going to escape from his unexpected confession. His arms lie limply by his side, but his fingers are antsy, tapping a random rhythm against his long coat.

"Thank you," Akaashi mumbles, barely audible.

Bokuto relaxes, but his face continues to line with caution. "You don't," Bokuto says, voice coarse, and coughs to clear his throat, "You don't have to respond right away."

Akaashi huffs a laugh in the form of a sharp exhale. In all honesty, he's not sure what to do. His heart races, but for a completely different reason. Before, it was panicked, a desperate, heavy beat as he fought to keep Bokuto from running away. But now, it's a lighthearted staccato, jumping back and forth in a quiet, celebratory cheer. That, elation, and a speckle of fear swirl in the pit of his stomach.

And his response is right there. At the back of his throat, ready for release. But he can't bring himself to say it, not yet. Instead, laughter bubbles from his mouth, and he catches himself from doubling over. He steps forward and lowers his head to lean his forehead against Bokuto's chest.

Bokuto, still cautious and hesitant, slowly wraps his arm around Akaashi. They hang loosely, but Akaashi can feel the heat from his palms seep through his coat. He continues to shake, fingers returning to grip the lapels of his coat tightly.

"Akaashi?" Bokuto's voice shakes. "Are you—?" _Are you ok?_

Akaashi hears his question and nods. He takes a deep breath and rises, breathing deeply through his nose. A smile cracks across his face.

"I'm fine," he breathes. "Actually, I'm more than fine."

The implication takes his friend a moment to understand, but when he does, his reaction is visible. The beginnings of a wide grin spread across his face, and there's a twinkle to his eyes. Everything about him begins to glow, and he's brighter than any Christmas star he's ever seen. He'd even go as far as to say he rivals the stars.

With a loud laugh, Bokuto tightens his arms around Akaashi's waist, and in one fluid movement, has them spinning on the pavement until they fall, a small pile of snow cushioning their impact. For a moment, they lie there, chests heaving with happiness, and Akaashi can't remember a time he'd felt so light.

The bell to the cake shop jingles, and they both look up to see a small family. The parents watch them in amusement, and their child giggles, bringing a mitten up to cover her smile. Bokuto immediately returns her smile.

When they round the corner and disappear, Akaashi pushes himself up and dusts the snow off of his coat. Then, he holds out a hand in offering, and Bokuto takes it. They nearly slip again, but Bokuto catches them both.

With wide smiles, warmth riding in their chests, and their fingers clasped together, they begin their trek back to the coffee shop.


End file.
